Liquid Chocolate

"So what's this I heard about you living with someone? A real firecracker by all accounts."

"Yeah?" I looked up from my beer, suspiciously. "What else did you hear?"

"Nothing, really. Only that you were hot and heavy with some hot young chick." Matt looked at me closely. I stared intently at the glass before, lips pursed, mouth set. He could detect, in that sixth-sense sort of way that good old friends can, a deeper story – much deeper. Involuntarily, I heaved a long, emotive sigh. "Wanna tell me about it?" he asked softly, laying a hand on my arm.

I sat up and took a long draw on my beer. Matt had been out of town for the past year. We were there just to catch up. I'd known him for over 35 years, and I really needed to tell someone – someone who wasn't involved. We had nothing beyond beer and a visit planned. I guessed he was the one – and now was the time. Shaking my shoulders, I replied, "Yeah. Why not?" I smiled at him and added, "you're not going to believe it anyway, but it makes for good, rousing entertainment – or perhaps that should be arousing!" I called for another round –, waiting, draining my glass, before I began.

"Well, first time I saw her, she took my breath away. Really." I sipped my beer as the memories filtered back. Dabbing my mouth, I continued. "She was standing behind the counter at the Silvercoast Chocolate Shop in Silver Creek mall. I remember just catching her in the corner of my eye. Jeez," I snickered, "my neck snapped around so fast it hurt. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She looked like something mystical – supernatural. She was a goddess – a chocolate goddess." Matt nodded, as I thought about it, again. "Although not quite chocolate," I muttered, more to myself, "more mocha. But – whatever – she was... she was ... so ... so incredibly beautiful my mouth went dry – literally!" I glanced at Matt to see if he understood. He was taking it all in; not yet passing judgement. "Well, I grabbed something, without even looking at it, and went to the counter to make the purchase. Up close she was even more spectacular. I couldn't understand why the place wasn't lousy with slathering males, but at that moment, I was the only customer in the shop. As she rang it in, I couldn't help myself. 'Excuse my boldness,' I stammered like a teenager, 'but, you are... I mean...' – I didn't really know what to say. I mean, everything that came to my mind sounded so trite – so crass, but I had to say something. My brain was reeling, and I didn't have any idea what was going to come out, even as it came. 'You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on!'

"I stood there frozen – feeling like such a geek, and she looked at me wide-eyed for just a moment. A flush suffused her cheeks, before she dropped her eyes once more – ostensibly to complete the transaction. 'Thank you,' she cooed.

"She put the candy in a bag with the receipt and handed to me, kinda shyly. I felt awkward as I took it, taking care not to touch her hand – though, man, let me tell you I desperately wanted to – take her hand, that is." I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks as I recalled the intensity of the moment. "So I just took the bag, muttered a thank you and turned mechanically to leave. Christ, I would have loved to stay there and just stare at her all evening, but to what end, with what excuse? Anyway, another customer had just come in.

"So I exited, rather woodenly – not that I had a hard-on, or anything," I explained, looking up again. "No, it was way more than that – way more complicated than a simple sexual turn-on.

"Anyway, as I left the shop I thought he heard her say, really quietly, and breathy-like, 'I get off in an hour.' It was a hallucination, I was sure – wishful thinking, nonetheless, my head just about wrenched itself off my shoulders. She was looking at me. I couldn't believe it. And she gave me this sweet, innocent, coy smile, before turning back to the next customer.

"I just about fell down. My heart was pounding. I felt so adolescent; still, I wandered the mall aimlessly for a few minutes letting her visage echo around my brain. Finally – actually, it was only a few minutes later – I found a shielded bench from which I could watch her without her seeing me." I chuckled at the thought, raised my glass, and added just before taking a gulp, "I sat there trying to find the best description of her complexion. I think what I settled on was 'a Grand Marnier mocha melange.'

"Well," I began again, after a few moments of quiet reverie, "to make a long story short, or perhaps, to make a long, convoluted story a little more tellable: I had watched her sign out, and gather her belongings, and I met her at the door about an hour later. She smiled shyly – shyly but alluringly. She seemed more pleased than surprised. Anyway, we approached one another tentatively, or timidly – almost warily – a little stunned and a little bashful. Taking a deep breath, I said 'Hi,' and invited her for coffee; she accepted. Somehow, I knew she would.

"'So, Tillie,' I says, checking out her name tag, 'I'm Simon.' She smiles, a sort of goofy, toothy smile, and says hi. We just started walking down the mall. I just didn't know where to go with it – literally or figuratively, so I asked her what Tillie was short for." I snorted at the memory of her response. She was both embarrassed and indignant. "Her name is Mathilda – which she hates – Mathilda Gertrude Sampson, both Grandmothers' names. She said it with such disgust it was almost funny. Somehow or other we found our way into a coffee place and got our orders. Then we began to exchange our – what would you call them? – superficial life-details. Matt," I glanced up at him, to see if he was bored with me yet, "I was watching her face the whole time we spoke. I felt like I was enchanted, but what was really weird was that, and this is no word of a lie, the look in her eyes was one of infatuation – I couldn't believe it, but she was no less enthralled than I was.

"Even looking back, I've never been able to figure out what she ever saw in me – a plain, round, white guy, well past forty; thinning hair and thickening waist. She, on the other hand, was perfect – perfection manifest. Full lips; glittering deep brown eyes, impeccably set around a pert nose, with just a tiny hint of the Dark Continent still evident – if you know what I mean; flawless mocha skin – creamy coffee-coloured with just a hint of orange spice undertones. Her black hair hung to her shoulders in neat, tight braids. Her breasts swelled proudly – not large, but perfectly shaped – her nipples just a slight insinuation under her sweater. Her hands were fluid, her fingers fine, her legs obviously shaped and toned beneath her slacks. At 23 years old... – too young? I still don't know. Anyway, at 23 years old, she was, to my mind, the ideal specimen. She was exactly what had been intended when mankind had first emerged in central Africa.

"Obvious infatuation notwithstanding, we talked and talked and talked. We talked about everything. Everything except what was front and centre in each of our minds – that is, our mutual attraction. Then, at some point, to emphasize some trivial point, Tillie reached out and touched my hand." I shook my head, shaking free of the intensity of the memory. "I'll tell you, Matt, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was electric. I felt the energy well up inside – starting, I have to admit, in my loins, then boiling up my spine to sparkle behind my eyes. 'Can I take you home?' I sputtered, not really knowing if I meant my home or hers – and actually not really caring.

"'No,' she had said demurred softly, clasping my hand once again. 'Too fast! Too soon!' I can't say I couldn't see her point – deep down; still I was disappointed. 'Can I see you again?' I asked, adding quickly, 'Tomorrow?' She smiled and nodded, batting her wonderful eyelashes, 'Yeah, that would be nice.'

"And so it began – innocently enough. The next day we met once again, and once again we talked and talked and talked over coffee and dessert. Time seemed to hang suspended, yet at the same time it whizzed by. And suddenly it was time to go. Outside the coffee shop, as she turned to me to say goodbye, I grasped her shoulders and, hesitating just a moment, I leaned in to kiss her. Her hands gripped my biceps, and squeezed, telegraphing the tension of that first, cautious kiss. When our lips met, it was ... well, it was like nothing ... nothing I had ever experienced. Electric and sweet, soft and tantalizing. It was, I suppose, like what they tell about in songs and stories – well beyond anything I had ever felt before. I didn't want it to stop – ever.

"The pressure of her lips was mirrored through her fingers against my arms – building steadily until she broke the lip lock and turned her face demurely to the side. Her arms gently encircled me and her cheek rested against my chest. She must have been able to feel my racing heart as I stood trying to catch my breath – trying to reorient myself. After a comfortable pause, a pause that could have gone on forever, I leaned down and brushed my lips against the back of her neck. She went stiff for the briefest moment, a surprised gasp escaping her lips, then seemed to melt into me – over me – clinging to me for support.

"'Oh, God!' she whispered. I leaned down, ever-so-lightly kissing her exposed neck again. She shivered and half-heartedly complained softly, 'Don't....' Intrigued, I continued to feather oral caresses across the back of her neck. She shivered again, cooing softly, but she made no move to avoid my lips.

"'Can I walk you home?' I asked, a little bewildered.

"'Either that,' she hissed through short gasping breaths, 'or take me right here, right now!' I couldn't believe my ears! Gathering her to my side, I began the short walk in the direction of the abode she had described earlier. She called out as we entered the suite, checking on her roommates, neither of whom was there, then she bundled me into her room, tearing at my clothing as she slammed the door with a kick. 'Ohmigod!' she whispered, 'What's come over me? I've never felt like this before.'

"I was stunned. Here I was, with this 23 year old vixen tearing at my clothes. The girl of my dreams. And I stood frozen, like an adolescent nerd, not knowing what to do. Right! Then, suddenly, I launched into action. Tumbling Tillie onto her bed, I joined her in her fevered effort to remove all our clothes as quickly as possible. The moment we were naked, she spread her beautiful legs, and, grabbing my member with both hands, guided it to her sex. I had never been so hard in all my life. She pulled, touching my swollen, pulsing glans against the warm fuzz of her bush, and stared, her eyes glittering with an unfettered lust. 'Go!' she hissed.

"I drove into her with reckless abandon, ploughing between her slick lips into the warm grip of her vagina, not stopping until our pubic beards tangled. The moment I reached depth, she began to writhe and moan, as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over her, pounding her sensibilities like the surf. Locking her ankles around my butt, she pulled and released rhythmically, her fingernails burrowing into my shoulder blades, dampening the uncontrolled flailing of her torso. Her head flung from side to side as if it were trying to tear itself right off her shoulders.

"'Oh,oh, oh,' she cried, thrusting her hips back against my skewering cock. My jabbing erection throbbed so much it hurt – toeing that fine line between extreme agony and extreme ecstasy. Then I could take no more. My balls seized and, unbelievably, my rock-hard penis stiffened further. Spearing her mercilessly, I felt myself trying to climb inside her as more semen than I thought I could hold boiled up my iron pipe and sprayed hot against her cervix. The heat of that spray proved too much for Tillie, and she spasmed stiff then swooned, her head falling to the side, her legs going limp and her fingers relaxing at last. I pumped and pumped, finally slowing to collapse into the moist warmth of Tillie's heaving chest. 'Omigod! Omigod!' she softly chanted, her mantra to a slowly returning awareness."

I felt a bead of sweat trickling down my forehead, as I glanced over at Matt. Wide-eyed, he remained silent, only wiping his upper lip with his sleeve – and waiting. "More detail than I need to know?" he suggested wryly.

So I continued. "We talked and laughed and made love for the rest of the night. I came four times!" Matt raised his eyebrows. I just shook my head. It was still, even now, hard to believe, but how many times had I reviewed the memories, counting? It had really been four times! Four times in – what? – something like fourteen hours. Un-fucking-believable! "I was enchanted – under a spell. It felt like I had fallen down a rabbit hole into fantasyland.

"Yeah," I muttered, giving my head a shake, before I continued. It sounded so unbelievable. "I was there, and I hardly believe it." I looked at Matt once again. "You had enough? Or ya wanna hear more?"

It was his turn to shake his head. "Go on," he said. "I've no reason to think you'd lie – though you clearly may be delusional." He chuckled, then waited, sipping his beer.

"Well, it was so intense, we had to debrief. I asked Tillie if it was always like that, or had it ever been like that, for her. She just smiled and softly explained, as much to herself as me. 'I always felt like there was something muting my sexuality. I mean,' she grinned impishly, 'I'm only twice removed from virginity – well, three times, now. Anyway, it was like I had a plastic seal over my libido – keeping it separated from the physical part of my life. It made sex – the only other two times – kind of stilted, almost boring. No fireworks, hardly even lights.

"'The last time, previous to this,' she went on, 'I could sort of, vaguely feel a sexual pressure, somewhere, like it was pushing against a sealed flap, but never even close to being strong enough to break the seal. But when you kissed the back of my neck – no one had ever done that to me before – it was like someone shook the can. The pressure built so suddenly; then something just let go. The seal, I think, is well and truly broken.' She smiled up at me. 'The rush of erotic sensation that overcame me was incredible. There was a sort of euphoria unlike anything I've ever known. The explosive nature of it was disorienting – disorienting and irresistible. It was as if I'd completely lost my will – lost the will to resist – lost the will to consider anything other than sexual release. And that loss – that loss of control was pretty fucking scary, if you'll excuse my language.

"'But more than that, like Pandora's box, I have the feeling that my sexuality is out, now. It'll never get re-gathered, herded back into that place of safe-keeping.' Again, she smiled at me – a little sadly – a little frightened. 'I guess that's okay. But it's gonna take some getting used to.'

"And that was the start. From there our relationship took off – all wheelspin and loud exhaust – accelerating so incredibly fast that we were just left hanging on for dear life, and watching, sort of impotently, as the newborn relationship-beast bucked and kicked and careened off in all directions. We were together after work every day for the next two weeks, at which time, she packed her bags, gave her roomies her next month's rent in lieu of notice, and moved into my house. I know it was way too fast. We both knew. But it was way too exciting, too.

"All I had to do was kiss or touch or even blow on the back of her neck, and she went off like a skyrocket. It was like a trigger that unleashed some sort of nymphomania – and like the sound of thunder, whose echoes and rumbles persist well after the initial bang, the remarkable arousal she experienced persisted as a hyper-sensitivity, fading slowly over the course of the next hour or so. I mean, she was 23 years old, for Christ's sake; had no one ever touched her there before?

"In that first two weeks, I had more sex than I'd had in the previous five years, I'm sure. And Tillie, a novice, as it were, was a natural. She'd try anything I suggested. It was unbelievably great. More so than words could ever describe. And it just kept getting better and better. Tillie had been right about the Pandora's Box thing. Once the dam was breached, the floodgates, blown wide open, could not be closed again. We didn't slow down – we couldn't. Even after she moved in. Not until the end of the first month. We were so exhausted, we were both on the verge of collapse. So we agreed to a much-needed break. We took a long weekend and stayed in bed. And we actually stayed in bed the entire three days, except to get food and drink. We just read and slept blissfully, most of the time – most of the weekend.

"Well, almost, anyway. In retrospect, Tillie had already developed an addiction. On that Monday afternoon, still in bed, she turned to me and said, 'I don't think I can make it.' She was very matter-of-fact about it. Putting down my book, I asked her what she meant. She stared into my eyes, silent for a moment, drawing a finger lightly down my chest, twirling my chest hairs and licking her lips. 'It's like there's this sexual pressure building inside of me.' She sounded oddly worried. 'It's becoming critical.' She paused again, batting her big brown eyes. 'I don't think I can hold it back, any more,' she stammered, her eyes moistening. 'I've tried. I really have. But I can't – I'm sorry, but I just can't – any more.'

"Geez, Matt, you have no idea. She sounded so pathetic, so sorry, my heart just broke. 'Hey,' I clucked, softly, pulling her into my arms, 'That's all right, babe. We've had our rest. It wasn't s'posed to be an ordeal, eh?' And as I said that she just let go. I hadn't even breathed on her special spot, yet. Rubbing me with her boobs, nibbling, pulling, tickling, tweaking. What could I do? I leaned over and kissed the back of her neck.

"There was always a half hour there at the beginning of any episode when she became preternaturally – I don't know – wired for sex; and nothing – not even thunderous multiple orgasms – nothing, it seemed, could satisfy her. She relished what was happening, but always wanted more and more – sexual stimulation – sensual excess – self-gratification. But, you know, Matt, even early on, it was much more than simple self-gratification. Tillie was not self-centred – not at all. She was as gratified by the giving of sex as by the receiving.

"So I pushed her head down into my crotch, my hard-on, steely against her cheek. Whimpering softly, she turned and engulfed me. It was fucking marvelous – a sight to behold. You know, the moment she had me in her mouth, she – SHE started climaxing. Her cheeks and lips quivered and shuddered along the length of my rod, while her tongue convulsed spasmodically. I place my hands over her ears just because that's where they settled. She sure as hell didn't need any help. Pushing herself down hard into my pubes, I could feel her cheeks squeezing in tight against my throbbing, aching cock. Then, like a spring released, she began frenetically bobbing, alternately catching my glans just behind her teeth on the up stroke and flattening her nose against the hairy base of my pulsing erection. I could feel myself threatening to explode. A few exquisitely painful thrusts later, stroking her uvula with my veined shaft, pounding my cockhead against the back of her throat – it was more than I could take.

"Ignition rippled up, white hot, from somewhere behind my balls, gathered in my tightening scrotum and erupted deep in her mouth – a liquid skyrocket, spraying violently, then running into her gullet, like cough-syrup. Holding her head tight into my crotch, I watched her whole body shudder and twitch through yet another insistent climax.